The Expanse in Your Eyes
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: "My heart burst when you fell away from us, and do not dare to presume otherwise, or assume my heart or my soul so weak as to deny you from it for the embrace of another. For that is what you were, what you had become, Loki of Asgard – my soul. Embedded as a fossil among stone. And try as I might you cannot come off." Loki/Sif, post-Avengers. Reunion.


**The Expanse in Your Eyes**

**Loki/Sif**

**K-plus. **

**Post-Avengers, references to Thor. One-shot. Romance, Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Third or forth Marvel piece I've written, unrelated to all previous work. I've been waiting a while to write this pairing, for after reading Mira-Jade's work I was greatly inspired, just unsure of what dynamic I wanted to portray or attempt. This came out of a sheer need to publish. I've missed the community on here, so I began to write something Loki, then Sif just sort of fell into place along side him.**

**No beta, but if you notice errors please feel free to point them out to me. That would be super-helpful! **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters are property of Marvel. Just fyi. Not mine. **

**-XXX-**

The hall is a crowded expanse of noise before their entrance is noticed. As they come into view, a hush falls, not abruptly, but gently, like new rain on dusty soil. A blanket pulled over a bed. The voices halt, or die down, and everyone is left staring. All that is left are whispers, murmurs, the wind, and wide eyes. In time, the once-brothers step out down the long aisle toward the dais. The procession of princes, warriors, and honorary guards keep a clipped pace.

Loki can feel his once-brother's eyes scan the crowd, testing the emotions of their audience. Sensing their eyes, the younger god keeps his own gaze straight ahead – on the stairs of the dais, where the Allfather waits. It does not stray.

More murmurs. He can hear, in passing, the hiss of breath. _"Traitor." _ Then see the wave of motion as the speaker is nudged. Thor's fists, hanging at his side loosely as they strode down the row, tighten. His brow visibly furrows. Loki holds back breath – not that he could sigh if he wanted too. The fox's mask prevents that.

The cool iron kissing his jawline has caused his bones to lock in an extremely uncomfortable manner. Truthfully, he is almost grateful for it; the once-prince has nothing to say. Speaking would only serve to further ruin him. He has nothing worth saying, besides. Nothing they would want to hear.

Yes, his gaze never strays. Not even as they approach. When the Warriors Three and Lady Sif are fully in the brother's sight. From the corner of his vision, Loki can sense the men jostling 'bout. Lady Sif stands apart. There is a gap beside her – one that, once upon a time, he might've filled.

He desperately does not wish to see her. Let her stare at his green-glass eyes and see blank vision, as placid and dull as pondwater. Let her look, let them all. _"But do not allow me to see her." _

There is no desire in his heart to view the mistrust, anger, or even hurt in the warrior woman's eyes. None at all. He cannot -

Without a sound, the procession halts. Thor bows low, the other following suit. Loki, in his chains and mask, doesn't, but merely stands, darkly erect. The Allfather approaches with heavy limbs, looking down upon his sons with his singular eye, an orb of icy tension. The queen follows, drifting lightly, resplendent as even in her golden gown, waves of fair hair intricately inner woven with her crown. Her visage is one of sorrow otherwise. She has nothing but attention for her once-son. Pausing just behind her husband, Figga folds her hands carefully. Odin coils and uncoils his thick fingers, considering.

"Thor Odinson, you have return to us from the land of Midgard…."

And so it goes. Odin monologues, lamenting, lecturing. Loki blankly allows the words to wash over him. He does not look to his father. Nor his brother or mother. And especially not to her.

Beside him Thor stands to attention, noble brow creased. He listens with an unusual focus – typically the younger brother is the one paying their father mind, not the mighty thunder god. But then again, things have so vastly altered. Their roles have changed.

He can see the warriors shift, Fandal lean in toward Hogun. The dark-haired warrior gives the smallest shake of the head. _"Not now." _

To their side, Sif's shoulders twitch; she shies away from their words. Her eyes, glassy blue, are steel-like. But her lower lip, always a sign of her truest feelings, trembles slightly. He can practically feel the tremor in her hands. Feel her heat upon him, as though she were at his side – as they typically were. As they had always been.

Yes. Things have greatly altered.

Odin finishes. He gives the room and the brothers a sweeping gesture. Then, the manacled Loki is once again escorted out of the throne room. He passes her without a single glance.

**-XXX-**

In his mind's eye, Loki can still envision her on that day. The anger in her gaze. Tightened fists. Tense muscles. She had stared up at him, the new king seated on his once-father's throne, eyes darker than an ocean storm. Disbelieving. Disappointed.

Disgusted.

The group – Sif and the Warriors Three – had taken their leave. But she had returned, slipped in silently, making her way across the polished floors, down the hall of great columns to stand before him, a silent reed encased in leather and unbearable quiet. He waited, gently observing the maiden before him. She turned her chin up, meeting him full-on without a flicker.

"My lady," he began after a long pause. She had not seen fit to speak, thus he started in her stead. "You have again graced me with your lovely visage. Do you have more on which you wish to discuss?"

With these words he felt his lips curl. Sif had left in great anger. He wondered at what she might have left to say. What private thoughts must she have concealed from the others?

A warrior maiden, Lady Sif was a rare breed. Friend to the brother princes, regarded as a fine warrior, an agreeable sparring partner, and fierce commander, she had served the family of Odin well. Thor scarcely identified her apart from his male warriors, though he declared her practically a sister to him. The younger Odinson had, over the course of her apprenticeship in the palace, quietly taken her in as a companion. They were quite opposite – the proud and trim Sif, always eager to fall into battle with her burly mates, and the slender-formed prince who prefer texts and tomes to warring activities. But nevertheless, they fit. Once they found one another as companions, they just seemed to fall into place. Loki, often disregarded by Thor's crowd, had Sif to slide next to him, silent to his sullen nature. And the lady could always rely on her shadow to accompany her through the many dark halls of the Allfather's house, or trail with her through the gardens whenever she felt in a sentimental, pensive sort of mood. In the court balls they might always have each other for that obligatory dance, someone to settle into a corner with, accompanied with a good bottle of wine or mug of mead.

They did not intrude upon one another – that is to say, they could approach the other without introduction or preamble. They fell into place. Where other friends might try to fill long stretches of silence, Lady Sif and Prince Loki could sit in the library, or walk about the grounds for endless hours upon hours in complete and utter quite. It was a state of comfort. Frigga often said that one found that kind of ease in only the greatest of friends.

She always spoke her mind to him, often without regard. Loki could pick and choose words with the greatest of care, like a selection of pearls , but the lady charged ahead without much consideration. But on this day….

"I have many things about my mind, my lord," the lady said softly. She had not bowed, he realized, upon her re-entry. Perhaps she did not yet see him as her king. The thought did not sit well with Loki.

"Oh?"

"Your brother, for one."

Disgusted, he turned, pacing slightly, cape flaring with every whip of his slender form. "My Lady Sif, I have already informed you of my decision. To bring up the subject again is foolish. You speak in folly."_"_

Her nostrils flared, jaw set. "Pardon me, my lord, but I should think it is you who is dealing in thoughts of folly. Surely it would be better to bring Thor home, to restore Odin. Perhaps he might –"

"You question your king?" the new king roared. Sif's eyes flashed. "You never thought to question the Allfather, or even our departed Prince Thor. But I, my lady? You see fit to doubt my judgment, but the one who lead us to this point – my brother? Nay, one might never doubt him. Tell me, lady, what say you to our prospects of war?"

Sif had visibly paled. "Loki – sire –"

He lowered himself from the dais, taking the steps with deliberate slowness. Specter extended, the king stared darkly into his companion's eyes. "You doubt, my lady. You mistrust your king."

She did not speak, but swallowed. He watched the chords of her slender throat, settling into satisfaction.

"Sif," he said, nearing now. So close the maiden must look up, tilt her head back. He can remember a time when they were of the same height. He shifts nearer. So close their torsos are in danger of touching. Her breath has caught. This pleases him. "Why do you question me so? What had lead to this…wariness?"

"My king have given me no cause to be wary," she replied.

"And your friend?"

She struggled with the words. "I fear for my friend, sire."

His hand found her cheek. "Sif…speak as you would to your friend. To your –"

"_—love."_

The choking of her words stopped him from continuing. "My lord, I cannot understand your actions. Now please," she swept into a hasty bow, and with it his hand found her ivory neck, then the collar, steadying her into place. Sif straightened, but did not move away as she had intended.

"You will serve me," he told her seriously. "As your king. As your…friend, Sif."

She reached out for his forearm, clasping it in the way of warriors, brothers, and companions. Her eyes grew dark with great feeling.

"And your love?" she asked softly.

Emerald orbs leveled with her icy gaze. The king inclined his head. "If you so choose."

She held his eyes in her own for several seconds. Then, pressed her lips to his, pressure bearing down on the young king sweetly, though their was an angry haste behind the display of affection. He sought to deepen the kiss, and wound his arms 'round her waist in a heavy embrace. This was what he had wished upon when she approached him again. Reassurance. Resilience. Though the new king would never say so, Loki Odinson was petrified of this new awakening of power – regardless of the fact that he'd wished for this so desperately.

"My lady," he murmured against the hollow of her throat. The warrior maiden gasped. He moved to put his lips to hers again, but Sif pulled away.

She kept her eyes to the floor, waiting for composure to bloom again. The king stood apart. His blood was warm, and how he longed to take her into his arms again. Yet no…she was already moving away. Bowing her head, the lady spoke hurriedly, putting one fist to her chest.

"Sire. My fidelity," she murmured. "And my heart. For the kingdom."

He swallowed. It was time to speak his part. "You are an attribute to the nine realms and a gift to Asgard. My lady, may you fight in your king's honor."

The fist fell. "Indeed."

Swiftly, she turned to stride from the room.

He did not see her again, save for his vision from Midgard, where she battled his steel warrior in arms with Thor. Against him.

**-XXX-**

She comes to him, days later, to his steel box in the Pavilion of Secrets. The hall of marble columns cast long shadows, creating bars across the walls of his prison. A storm has graced the central city of the kingdom, slashing the sky with light and noise. He is absorbing the chaos from above when he hears, faintly against the storm, the sound of cautious steps against the polished stone. Light steps from light feet.

Loki turns from where he was facing the wall, pausing halfway to observe the gentle form of Lady Sif.

Wearing casual court dress, she bears nothing more than a candle and a pensive expression. The god waits as she moves close. Sif stumbles only once, when she meets his eyes. Her own gaze hardens briefly. But she continues.

Once before him, Loki can observe the change in his once-companion. Her hair has been shorn to fall just past her shoulders. Her eyes have weathered, as have her hands – they've never been soft lady's hands, by any means, but now their muscles have tightened, callouses increased. There are circles beneath her eyes (he wonders briefly it they are new, but he shall not flatter himself in such a matter). Shoulders tight, the warrior maiden halts before the cell of the fallen prince.

And stares.

Loki gazes back fully. A crack of lightening passes, illuminating their faces with a brilliant white blaze. For a moment the glare leaves him blind to her. Then she is back, shadows falling into her form as easily and effortlessly as his hands might once have. Shadows have always been his realm.

Between them a moment passes of utter hurt, silent and unbearing in its cause. And then it passes.

"My prince."

His lips twist into a sneer, curling fiercely. Sif recoils, then attempts again, having no doubt at what the offending term recalls in his tired mind.

"Loki…."

Approaching the edge of his prison with liquid limbs, the dark once-prince stops before the lady. "My lady Sif," he says shortly, falling into a mocking bow.

Sinking to her knees, the maiden places her candle on the ground, then sits back. It wasn't a graceful motion, but the once-prince felt an ache nonetheless. The layers of her dove-coloured gowns pooled about her, emphasizing her form exact the way it was meant to. The lady was not particularly fashion conscious, but she was required to dressed for court activities, and did so when necessary. It was extremely lucky the palace seamstresses did have an eye for fashion. They always concocted flattering gowns that suited the lady's form, and emphasized her more elegant parts.

Slowly, Loki follows suit.

"You've been missed," she begins softly. "And mourned."

The once-prince lowers his chin, eyes narrowed sharply. "Did you mourn, my lady?"

She looks up from beneath her lashes. "All of Asgard mourned you, my prince."

Gritting his teeth, Loki grips his knees. "Why have you come, Lady Sif?"

"To see you."

"And?"

Her voice caught an edge. "Loki Odinson, I have no slept since you fell from the Bifrost."

He hisses. "I did not fall. And I am not Odinson."

Another crack of lightening. With it, his skin alters. A flash of colour exposes his true skin. The Jotun blood flushed in his veins. Sif gasps, retreating once more. The sanguine irises flicker over her shuddering form, absorbing her fear like an alcoholic inhales mead. After satisfying himself with her fright, the god concentrates. He waits for the colour to fade once more into its typical shade blue-tinged milk.

She flinches as it disappears, the last detail remaining being the bloody gaze for several long seconds. "How long, Loki?"

Another sneer. "Since the day I was born."

"No…how…long have you know?"

He does not answer.

Quiet, the warrior maiden moves closer. "Oh, Loki."

The once-prince looks around his steel prison. It is a simply box with a mage-made field of glass that allowed the prince to look out and others to peer in, and for communication. Sitting in the midst of the rarely-used pavilion, it is a lonely testament to the young man. A fitting punishment.

"Did you weep for me?"

"Yes."

"Did you pray? Mourn for your loss?"

"Yes."

"Did you keep your pledge to me? Or turn to another in your sadness?" He spits here, face taut.

"I locked away my sadness, Loki," she whispers. "I mourned alone, for there was no one to know. And while your brother, your mother, your father, your friends wept, I had to hold strong. For what was I to you, in their eyes? A childhood playmate. A sister. But not one who might so openly weep like a wretch, mope about the castle as a silent shade does in deep misery, calling your name to the winds. That was not my place; I could not bear to reveal you, even then. I was not my role to play, not my tears to be seen, to be shed all in your name, Loki. My heart burst when you fell away from us, and do not dare to presume otherwise, or assume my heart or my soul so weak as to deny you from it for the embrace of another." Sif's eyes flash as brilliantly as the lightening now. The rumble of the storm only severs to further her lowly spoken passion. "For that is what you were, what you had become, Loki of Asgard – my soul. Embedded as a fossil among stone. And try as I might you cannot come off.

"I died on that day, but for me there was no funeral, no mourners, no tears – not as there were for you. Every day I died inside while the world moved around me, and nobody took notice, Loki, for I was not to be sad! I was not to be a mourner. You left me without that, with nothing more than ashes in my heart."

Her passionate speech has left him without words. The lady is usually one of few words, yet on this evening she speaks with eloquence and heat. Possibly they were words she had long kept back, hidden in the depths of her tired heart. For she must be much tired of the secret-keepings of loving a fallen god.

She speaks again. Tired, the words are slow. "Why did you not come home?"

"I could not."

"Then why did you not seek to tell us you lived? That, at the very least we were due. I was due. Your family…."

"It was impossible."

"I do not think anything to be impossible to you, Loki of Asgard," the warrior maiden says in a small voice. Weary, she seems to curl into herself, blinking deliberately. The sight leaves him raw.

Voice turned to velvet, the once prince states lowly, "My lady Sif…I did not truly consider your heart in the matter. I apologize."

"Indeed." She is icy. "You did not, my lord. If you had, perhaps this never would have occurred. Yet, it did. Loki, I asked nothing of you but fidelity."

That single word tosses him back to the day when she stood before his temporary throne and pleaded for the return of his brother, then for the revival of his, Loki's heart.

"And you had it," he assures her. "Without a drop of doubt, you did and you shall. Sif – Sif, I dearly missed you."

Another roar of noise, preceded by the flicker of bright white sprawling across the iron sky as pale veins of energy. The light reveals her tense face falling away. The expanse of her crystalline eyes fills him. He might very well fall into their bright abyss. Even when the lightening took its leave, the irises are bright. Practically glowing. Loki swallows.

"Once I am from this box, free…will you have me, my lady?"

The smile i slow in its growth, but everlasting in unbearable sweetness. Had there not been a field of energy separating them, the once-prince does not doubt that the lady would have reached for him. The smile is enough, however, and he takes it with great pride, knowing that it comes under his power.

**-XXX-**

**I've used the Pavilion of Secrets in previous pieces placed in Asgard. For Tamora Pierce fans, it's a blatant play off of her Pavilion of Delightful Pleasures from Trickster's Choice/Queen. **

**This is post-Avengers, but in the realm of Asgard, therefore I'm putting it under Thor. It's a setting thing, plus Avengers does not have an option for Sif as a character (reasonably enough, as she wasn't in the film).**

**If you liked this, be sure to check out my other Marvel pieces! I've got a massive Nat/Clint piece in the works, and several other complete Loki, Jane, Frigga bits and bobs. **

**Thank you for reading, reviews would be lovely! Just type stuff in the doobly-doo! It's conveniently placed for your reviewing pleasures. **


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